Goo [Deluxe Edition]

Never let it be said that Byron Coley (storied zinester cum storied
music critic, and renowned Friend of Thurston) isn't above
street-teaming when the occasion calls for it. That there's also a
brief essay/anecdote by Sonic Youth's A&R; guy inside this Deluxe
Edition package of Goo doesn't keep Coley from doing his civic duty, heaping
praise upon this album's shoulders via wonky descriptors like
"Mountain-on-Ketamine" or "a puzzle ballad about the road to oblivion." However,
amidst all the polysyllabic polish, Coley offers a bit of truth: "[S]ome long-time fans were
already croaking that the band was moving in a rockist direction,
leaving behind the avant-noise roots that had marked their early
history. Of course this was a load of happy horseshit. Sonic Youth had
been rocking the fuck out from the git-go; they were just doing it in a
language that most people didn't understand."

Indeed, if 1991 was the year punk broke, then 1990-- the year Sonic
Youth supposedly bit the wax tadpole-- was when punk decided to step off
the ledge. No doubt there were folks at the base of the wall, trying to
cushion the impact. And, of course, they all ended up with egg on their
face, and Goo in their lap. Fifteen years later, things have and haven't changed -- hair bands abound, but instead of Aquanet and spandex, they accessorize with chain
wallets and MySpace accounts. And while Sonic Youth will never be ready
for their close-up, there's stuff getting play on the radio stations
that doesn't sound all too different from the more accessible moments
offered on this here album.
An album which, of course, doesn't sound all too different from the
stuff SY was offering the kids prior to cashing Geffen checks, aside
from those oh-so-important production values. Byron says howdy.

Thanks to the wonders of remastering, the gaudy glory of Goo is
brought to the forefront. Thurston and Lee making like Lou and Sterling
on "Tunic", the seven-second radio-dial montage leading into "Mote", the
bombastic hissyfit at the end of "Mildred Pierce"-- all new-to-you,
brought to you now in hi-def quadrophonic Technicolor! And thanks to
this being the Deluxe Edition, you can compare and contrast the bright
and shiny Goo against the storied and mythic Goo demos, which sound
like, um, demos. You might prefer the ramshackle charm of "Animals"
over the hit-it-and-quit-it tightness of the finished product
("Mary-Christ"), but you have both here, so there's no need to really
choose. My ears prefer the Hollywood 70mm treatment over the handheld
shaky cam cuts, but there's something to be said for the three-minute
fuck-you danging at the end of "Blowjob" (aka "Mildred Pierce"). Also, the instrumental version of non-album cut "Lee #2"-- a gentler,
twangier Sonic Youth-- has it all over the previously unreleased version
that makes the mistake of adding words.

As for the non-demo bonuses, they're there. The kick to be had
listening to Thurston and Kim talk beat over snippets of Goo (as part
of some flexidisc promo)-- woot to the Watt shoutout, T-- but
there's a good reason it's at the end of the second disc. Elsewhere,
the Youth cause a ruckus, cover the Boys Beach and Neon (with Lee, of
course, playing the part of Brian Wilson in the former), and there's a
bit of that catchy rockist stuff that some of the fans probably still
can't stand. "Can Song" is three minutes of dirty booting that's hard
to resist. That Thurston felt the need to preface the track-- now
called "The Bedroom", previously released as a concert-recorded B-side--
with a question about your mom being a skinhead is something best left
between him and his therapist. Old transgressive habits die hard, I
guess, just like punk supposedly did, way back when Sonic Youth deigned
to pitch and shift their rock and roll to a decidedly bigger demographic
and fuck it up for everyone. And fuck it up they did, thank God.